


Half an hour is thirty days

by sherlockelly



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Body Worship, Come Marking, Drug-Induced Impotence, M/M, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4865723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockelly/pseuds/sherlockelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s the pain meds, bro. You’re not broken,” Jordie is compassionate about it at least, though Jamie doesn’t appreciate the snicker every time he says it. </p><p>“You don’t know! What if they cut something when they were down there and it’s limp forever?” </p><p>“Jamie, do you even know how penises work or…?” </p><p>“Oh, shut up.” Jamie’s <i>allowed</i> to pout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half an hour is thirty days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



> I couldn't resist writing this treat! Hope you enjoy it. :)

Every muscle in his body is stiff—all except the one he’s been hoping for. Jamie wasn’t counting on the lack of mobility after his surgery bugging him so much, nor was he counting on Jordie playing nurse being such fucking turn on—who knew? He’d be set up for a month of some _really_ good orgasms… if only he could actually get it up. 

“It’s the pain meds, bro. You’re not broken,” Jordie is compassionate about it at least, though Jamie doesn’t appreciate the snicker every time he says it. 

“You don’t know! What if they cut something when they were down there and it’s limp forever?” 

“Jamie, do you even know how penises work or…?” 

“Oh, shut up.” Jamie’s _allowed_ to pout. 

The worst part of all of it is that just because he can’t get it up, doesn’t mean he isn’t turned on. Every time Jordie helps him to the shower, sponges him down where Jamie can’t reach, it’s like the worst kind of torture. This is the kind of shit Jamie is going to jerk it to for the rest of his damned life—and he can’t even get hard while it’s his reality. 

It leaves him with a seriously debilitating case of blue balls nearly every day, and he’s tried jerking off—a hand shoved down the loose waist of his sweats, fisting his soft cock—but he’s got to face the facts that it’s just not happening. 

“Do you want me to try?” Jordie asks. It didn’t work when he was soaping Jamie up there earlier, but he’s not going to turn down the offer. 

Jordie gets him situated on the couch, hips slid close to the end of the cushion. Jamie can’t spread his legs yet, which means Jordie’s sort of hunched over and perched off to the side. It’s an awkward position, but Jordie manages to get all of Jamie in his mouth. 

It’s intensely intimate: the warm heat of tongue curling around Jamie’s flaccid cock, tip wiggling under his foreskin and working around the head, but even after ten minutes of the gentle sucking pressure sending shivers up his spine, it’s still not enough to get him hard. 

“Sorry,” Jordie kisses his hipbone in apology. At least he has the decency to go in the bathroom when he rubs one out afterwards; Jamie appreciates that. 

It gets worse before it gets better. 

Twice a day Jordie has to help change the bandages, but he always insists on doing it himself—to be sure it’s done properly. This afternoon, Jamie’s propped on his bed shirtless, sweatpants hiked down just low enough to reveal his stitches and the start of his pubic hair. 

Jordie’s always really careful when it comes time to clean the incisions. He gentles Jamie when he gets to the sore spots, wiping with the sterile cloths the doctor supplied. He’s even more careful when he reapplies the dressing and a new bandage. 

“Do you have to do that so close to my dick?” Jamie groans and drops his head back to stare at the ceiling. 

“I can’t move the incisions, bud.” 

“No, not that. Your other hand.” Jordie’s got his left hand spread on Jamie’s inner thigh, holding him immobile as he works. Each time he shifts, his fingertips graze Jamie’s balls. 

“This one?” Jordie’s a fucking monster, that’s the only explanation for why he’s shoving his hand higher and massaging the sensitive join of Jamie’s thigh and pelvis. 

It feels good; Jamie’s tight there from having to keep his knees together for the last… as long as he can remember. Jordie’s thumb finds a tender spot and Jamie can’t stifle the moan it pulls out of him. 

“S’your dick working yet?” He doesn’t even give Jamie the chance to answer before he’s cupping him over his sweats. He’s still soft, even after a few gentle tugs through the fabric. 

“You can’t keep riling me up! It’s not fair.” 

“I’m just checking! How are we supposed to know when you’re in commission again if I’m not doing my duty here?” Jamie is forced to hold still while Jordie handles him, almost clinically—but it’s working for him. Jamie’s gut is fully engaged in the proceedings, even if his dick isn’t. 

“Was this part of the post-op procedures they told you in the hospital?” Jamie manages, choking only a little on the last word. 

“Nope. This is the Nurse Benn special, just for you. Why? Feel good?” 

“Yes! But it’s frustrating as shit! You’ve got no idea—it’s like a knot right…” Jamie makes a fist and taps at the flat between his hipbones. 

“Right here?” Jordie abandons Jamie’s cock and brushes his hand away, pressing fingers into the spot he indicated. It’s like trying to scratch an inch through his gear, close but not enough. Jamie grits his teeth and groans. “Hey, just relax. I’ll finish up your other side and rub your back or something. Help you wind down a bit.” 

Jordie gets the other side cleaned and dressed but doesn’t pull Jamie’s pants back up. 

“Let me put this away and I’ll help you roll over, yeah? Wait here.”

“Good thing you said something, I was liable to run off,” Jamie rolls his eyes and flops onto his back. A massage really does sound nice, though. He’s barely been able to stretch without zips of pain up and down his sides lately, and the last thing he needs is his muscles atrophying in a permanently prone position. Nice for sex; bad for hockey.

Jordie comes back with a small bottle of massage oil, but Jamie can’t get too good a look at it before he’s tossing it on the bed and out of his line of sight. 

“Where’d you get that?” Jordie ignores him. 

“All right, you’re going to have to work with me here so I don’t put too much weight on your side.” Jordie positions a pillow at his hips, and between the two of them putting in maximum effort, Jamie’s able to roll over with minimal discomfort. The pillow under his pelvis is certainly more comfortable than his hipbones digging into the mattress, for sure. (Jamie’s a stomach sleeper; recovery has been tough in that regard, too.) 

“How’s that?” Jordie pats where his bare ass is peeking out from his pants. 

“Good.”

“Don’t fall asleep on me!” 

“M’not!” It is comfortable though—perfect for a massage. 

Jordie works Jamie’s sweats down and off, throwing them to the floor with a muted thud. “You need a privacy towel or something?” A light, skimming touch over his ass has Jamie burying his head in the crook of his arm. “What’s ‘at?” 

“No.” His face feels hot. Nothing Jordie hasn’t seen before, but he feels on display bent over the pillow like this.

“Okay then.” Jordie punctuates it with a slap to the firm muscle and hums in appreciation. “Time to grease you up!”

Jamie ignores his brother’s antics in favor of focusing on unwinding. He’s received plenty of massages in his life, but Jordie’s are always some of his favorites—you can’t play hockey and not pick up a few things from post-game rubdowns. 

The oil is new though—Jordie’s usually an over-the-shirt, shoulder rub kind of guy, sometimes Jamie’s scalp too if he begs enough. He figures this must be a special, after-surgery occasion. The viscous liquid is cool on his skin, but not enough to give him chills. Jordie dribbles patterns of it across his shoulder blades and back. 

“Oh my god, are you signing your name?” With his eyes closed, Jamie can recognize the familiar swoops of Jordie’s signature. 

“Maybe.” The next two passes are definitely the numbers 2 and 4 on Jamie’s ass cheeks. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

The oil is thick and greasy on his skin, but when Jordie starts rubbing it in and spreading it out, it warms up quickly, and Jamie forgets all that. 

He sweeps the length of Jamie’s body, working all the way down to his feet. Jordie starts there, knuckles digging into the soft arch. Jamie’s far enough removed from the hockey season that his callouses are starting to disappear, but there are still spots tender from a year of being crammed in his skates. Jordie finds each of them, familiar with the feeling himself, and works out the kinks with precision. 

Jordie works his way up to Jamie’s ankles next, his strong fingers tracing along the tendons above his heel. 

“Feel good?” Jamie can hear a thickness in his brother’s voice that is almost as delicious as the pressure climbing up his calves. 

“Yeah,” he’s breathless, his body buzzing with the touch. It’s a low level arousal coursing through his veins, futile but welcome. 

Jordie’s hands slide easily over his slick skin, kneading in every tight spot he finds. 

“You’re looking fit, you know. Not sure how much longer you’ll be able to get away with Chubbs,” Jordie smiles as he glides across the backs of Jamie’s thighs. 

“Shut up.” Jamie tries to look over his shoulder but it crooks his neck and he gives up, pillowing his head on a folded arm instead. 

“Though you’ll always be Chubbs to me regardless. But,” his voice softens, “I mean it. You look good.” His knuckles press into the crease below Jamie’s ass, dragging up along the curve of his glutes to his sides. “Good enough to eat under any other circumstance.” Jamie’s shudder sends Jordie’s hands skimming too close to the incisions, and then he’s shuddering for a different reason. “Shit. Sorry, babe.” 

He takes his time on Jamie’s back, tracing his spine and outlining the wings of his shoulder blades. Jamie’s neck has been tight for ages, and Jordie spends a while working his thumbs up the cords there. 

The slow sweeping brush of palms back down his sides cut inward at his waist, the meat of Jordie’s hand stopping to rest at the top of Jamie’s butt. 

“You hard yet?” 

“No.” He’s about to add something snotty, but Jordie interrupts. 

“I fuckin’ am.” 

Jamie groans. “That’s not fair!”

“I can’t help it! You’re hot! What do you want from me? You’d rather I get my hands all over you naked like this and feel _nothing_?” 

“No, but,” Jamie starts to roll over but Jordie stops him. 

“I’m not done.” 

Jordie’s hands are warm from friction by the time they get to Jamie’s ass, fists pressing in hard to the dense muscles in each cheek. Jamie’s spent most of the last few weeks sitting down, and the ease of pressure feels amazing. 

He’s completely lost in the feeling of that when Jordie surprises him, an oiled thumb slipping easy between his cheeks and over his hole. 

“Fuck! Jordie what— _fuck_.” His mouth falls open on its own when he feels it again. It’s intentional, he realizes, and Jordie doesn’t stop there. He spreads his cheeks and passes his thumbs one after the other in a slow, continuous motion. 

Jamie shoves his face into the sheets and moans, shoving back until he can feel the pull of his stitches. 

“Stop, you have to hold still.” 

“How ‘m I supposed to hold still when you’re teasing!” 

“I’m not. Here.” Jordie helps him spread his legs, just a little—“just enough,” he promises. “You got muscles here too, you know?” Jamie can hear the smirk in it. 

He doesn’t have any clue what an actual phantom limb would feel like, but that’s the only thing Jamie can think that describes the sensation. He knows physically he’s soft, but it’s like his brain forgot to tell that to the rest of him because is balls are heavy and full and mentally, he is a hundred percent online for this. 

Jamie flinches when Jordie dribbles more oil into the cleft of his ass. It rolls down between his cheeks, near to his balls before Jordie swipes it up with his fingers and starts rubbing it in again. His thumbs press on either side of his entrance, semi-circular motions that loosen him up. 

“Holy fuck.” Jamie’s never _drooled_ to be fucked before, but he’s damned near about to at this rate. 

“It’s just a massage,” Jordie sounds smug as shit. “You’re really tense. _Relax_ ,” he’s practically purring, dragging out the vowels into a syrupy drawl. One finger pushes in—just an inch—but Jamie’s so on edge for it he wants to cry. 

He bites the pillow and keens a muffled sound when Jordie crooks it and twists. 

“Yeah, _definitely_ tight here.” 

Jamie’s too lost to mock the stupid joke, hitching his hips back as much as he can without hurting himself. 

“Don’t move, Jame. If you need more, ask for it.” 

Easier said than done. His voice is stuck in his throat so Jamie is left nodding like he’s lost control of his neck. 

Jordie pushes a second finger in him effortlessly, sliding deep this time. _This_ feels more like scratching the itch. Deft fingers find his prostate, and Jamie’s not even sure Jordie’s pressing down when the dribble of precome escapes. It’s the first bit of relief he’s had in ages.

“Jesus, Jamie. If you could feel how full you are.” There’s awe in his voice that flushes Jamie face with embarrassment and arousal both. 

“I told you,” he sounds small when he speaks. 

“How long’s it been since you’ve come?” Jordie presses down a little harder and Jamie can feel the pressure building again. 

“Before,” he forces through grit teeth. Jamie would have made a bigger deal of getting off as much as he could if he’d known the pain meds would fuck him up like this. 

“Before the surgery?!” Jamie nods as Jordie works his fingers rhythmically. Another small burst of fluid shoots out and Jordie makes a throttled noise. Jamie wonders for a moment if Jordie can feel it too. 

“What are you even doing?” 

“Don’t worry. I looked it up.”

“Looked what up?” 

“ _This_.” Jordie pushes in and up, hard against Jamie’s prostate, rocking the pads of his fingers into it. The gush from Jamie’s cock feels strange and amazing, like coming without the contractions. 

“Oh, shit!” His fists ball in the top sheet and he humps down into the pillow at his hips. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot.” Jordie’s panting now, working in steady shoves that have Jamie’s hips twitching like it’s reflexive. 

“Jordie,” he whines, but he’s not really sure what for. Jamie’s hands clench tighter and he arms pull instinctually toward his body. 

“I can feel it, like, when I push,” he demonstrates. “I can feel it get smaller.” 

Jamie doesn’t realize how erratic his own breathing has become until he’s almost hyperventilating, vision whiting out in the corners. He can hear Jordie suddenly, tutting in his ear like he’s a spooked horse. 

“Easy, Jamie. _Breathe_. In, out, in, out.” Jordie demonstrates the measured, deep breaths, his exhalations ghosting cool air over Jamie’s oiled skin. “Too much? Should I stop?”

“No! Please, please don’t!” 

“Just keep breathing for me, that’s all. There you go, just like that. I’m gonna take care of you, empty you out.” _Fuck_ , it sounds so good to think about—finally getting some relief from the relentless pressure in his belly. 

Jordie’s fingers thrust in and out, rolling over his prostate each time. When he speeds up, it feels like a cork in a bottle waiting to pop. And when he pushes down hard, Jamie feels the come being worked out of him until it’s right there—sputtering hot against his inner thigh where his dick is pressed, still soft. 

He sucks in a mouthful of spit—mouth watering involuntarily as Jordie kneads into him. Shoving his face harder into the pillow doesn’t do much to muffle the deep, animalistic sounds he’s making, but Jamie’s only vaguely aware of them. There isn’t much room in his head right now for anything other than

“Faster!” He begs into the cushioning. 

“What’s that?” Jordie pauses and leans in closer. “I can’t hear you.” 

Jamie turns his head to the side, drags his cheek through the damp spot on his bedsheets. “Faster, please. Jordie, please. Faster.” 

“This good?” He picks up the pace, thrusting down into him with nearly continuous force. 

“Uh huh,” his head nods wildly, eyes pinched shut tight. 

“Shh, you’re okay.” He’s vaguely aware of Jordie’s free hand rubbing his back in soothing strokes. All his nerves are alight, and his legs twitch open wider despite the small twinge of pain. “S’almost all of it, I think.” 

Another few pulses of come drool from the tip of his cock, and Jamie’s constant jerking causes him to smear it all over his dick and inner thighs. He’s a slippery mess of oil and come and sweat, and it’s the most wrung out he’s felt since the season ended. He aches like he ran a marathon and buzzes like he’s fucked his brains out. 

Jordie eases back on the pressure gradually until he’s barely skimming the smooth inner walls. Jamie’s fingers unfurl with a pop when he lets go of the sheets and his toes relax, body sinking back into the bed with a renewed heaviness. But despite that, he feels lighter. 

“Jame? You good for me to pull out or not yet?” Jordie’s voice is as shot as Jamie’s ever heard it, and when the rest of his senses start coming back to him, he can feel where his brother is rubbing himself against the side of his leg. 

“Yeah, just—go slow.” It’s an odd feeling when he’s empty, the ghost of Jordie’s fingers still throbbing inside of him. When he tries to move, two hands push down on his lower back. 

“No! Wait, don’t go anywhere yet, okay?” 

That sounds like a wonderful idea, so Jamie stays put, concentrating on his still-shuddery breathing. He sounds like he’s been sobbing, Christ. 

Jordie’s pants rustle behind him, the zipper hissing open as he shucks them off. 

“Fuck, that was the hottest thing. Why haven’t we been doing that the whole time? Next time you can get it up, I’ll jerk you off, too. Those sounds you made. Jesus, Jamie. You should see yourself right now. Such a mess between your legs, holy fuck.” His mouth runs a mile a minute, barely disguising the glossy sound of hand tugging skin as Jordie jerks off over him. 

The bed creaks when he rises to his knees, and one palm falls to Jamie’s shoulder, pushing him hard into the mattress there. When Jordie comes, it’s with a loud grunt and a splash across Jamie’s whole back—hot in contrast to his rapidly cooling skin. 

“I can’t move,” Jamie croaks finally when Jordie sits back. 

“Good. Don’t. M’not done.” 

The hands are back, working into his muscles with the same skilled pressure. Jordie starts at his ass and circles the heel of his palms up and out, pushing up Jamie’s spine and then slipping down to his sides. 

At first he thinks Jordie’s put more oil on—which makes no sense because he’s already greased up to high hell. But by the time Jordie’s kneading at his shoulders again, he realizes. 

“You just rubbed all your jizz on me, didn’t you?” 

“Maybe.” 

“You totally did.” 

“You’re filthy anyway. Your face is all slobbery, and _fuck_. Your dick is a mess,” he touches the head, still tucked hidden in Jamie’s foreskin, but it’s so sensitive regardless he jolts. “Sorry, sorry. How are your hips?”

“Fine. Sore, but not from this.” The griminess is starting to get to him, especially now that the oil is going tacky on his skin. Or that could be Jordie’s come, he can’t really tell—god, he reeks of sex right now. “Hey, I’m going to get a sponge bath here soon, yeah?” 

Jordie’s hands brush down his body one last time before Jordie’s collapsing down next to him, face to face. He keeps one hand on the back of Jamie’s neck, toying with the ends of his hair. 

“You want me to clean you up?” 

“Eventually. I mean, c’mon Nurse Benn. You can’t let your patients sit around in their come all afternoon.” 

“Why not?” His eyebrows waggle with a sly smile. “Your pillow is totally fucked by the way. Maybe both of them. You drool on that one pretty good?” 

“Shut up.”

“That’s all you ever say anymore,” Jordie teases, and Jamie turns to hide his face in the pillow, but yeah—there’s a lot of slobber. His head pulls back in disgust, but Jordie flips the whole thing over for him to a dry spot. 

“I’ll get a clean one from my room later. That was totally worth the collateral damage.” He smiles sleepily at Jamie, but it flags a little after a stretch of silence. “Didn’t you think so?” 

“Hell yes. Best massage, probably of all time.” 

The self-assured, cocky grin stretches back over Jordie’s face. “Yeah. I knew it. I’m the best nurse there is.” 

“You’re something, all right.”


End file.
